Beautiful Day
by lyredenfers
Summary: Well, it might have been. Owen & the Cavalls, costarring Lady Alanna and Squire Nealan.
1. Part I

It was a warm spring morning when Owen of Jesslaw padded through the familiar halls of the Cavall estate, grinning to himself over how wonderful it was to be alive. He worked his way through the twisty passages before stopping in front of the closed door of his knight master's study. Owen reached his arm out to knock when a high pitched voice stopped him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Owen tilted his head, amused, as he addressed the speaker. "Why ever not, Lady Teresa?"

Lord Wyldon's youngest daughter wrinkled her nose in disgust from her perch on the window seat. "Don't call me that."

A smile pulled at Owen's lips. "Why ever not, Lady Teresa?"

Teresa gave the squire a look that one gives when they have discovered something especially nasty on the bottom of one's shoe. She then turned her attention back to the book she'd been reading and Owen raised his hand once more to knock.

"Never say I didn't try to warn him…"

Owen looked Teresa. Or rather, the book in front of Teresa's face.

"Warn who? About what?" asked Owen, puzzled.

"That silly boy my father is determined to call his squire."

Owen spun wildly as he looked around the hall, desperately trying to find at whom Teresa's dialogue was aimed. Bewildered, he concluded that they were the only ones present. Girls, he thought scornfully, are so strange.

"I tried to tell the silly boy—"

Owen interrupted here, indignantly as he puffed out his chest. "I am _not_ a boy. I'm sixteen."

Teresa continued as if he had not said anything. "—that he shouldn't disturb father. Therefore, it shall not be on my guilty conscience when father murders him."

Owen started. "What have I done now?"

Lord Wyldon's daughter continued speaking to a non-present third person. "If only Squire Owen would remember that he is not the only person in Tortall, the world would be a better place. And although I must concede that if something is amiss with father it is generally the squire in question's fault, it is considerably pig-headed to jump to conclusions. Assuming is ever so vulgar."

Owen relaxed visibly. "Then what's wrong with Milord?"

Teresa paused. Then she relented, "although I do not see it as being any of Squire Owen's business, I feel it is fair to warn him as to the extent of fury with which he will be met with should he knock on that door." She paused once more and grinned wickedly. "Mother asked the Lioness to tea."

Owen's eyes widened and he choked on laughter that was threatening to rise. "Why in the Gods' names did she do _that?_"

Teresa's giggling ended abruptly when Lord Wyldon's door began to open. Rising from her seat, she grabbed Owen by the arm and they scurried around the corner.

Lord Wyldon, a scowl heavily etched on his face peered into the corridor. "Odd," he remarked in a deadly voice. "I could swear I heard voices out here."

The knight's voice carried around the corner and Owen smiled innocently. "Oh no my Lord," he whispered quietly, "they were just in your head." Teresa gave a disapproving glare that turned into guilty giggles. Owen looked at her in horror and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. They heard a pause and a loud bang to signify the closing of Lord Wyldon's door.

Teresa pushed Owen's hand away and with a dignified glare, swept off down the hall.

"Good day, Squire Owen."

* * *

Author's Note:

1) The much anticipated disclaimer: I don't own it.

2) This is the beginning of a longer short fic I'm writing. I may post the rest... I might not. It involves Alanna actually coming to tea. Here's a sample:

_Meanwhile, Wyldon pounced on his cue. "Yes, math. I had to finish my squire's math lesson. And that is why I was late. You know how important it is to teach a squire the fundamentals of math Lioness, don't you?"_

_Alanna, took this as a personal insult to her less than average skills in math. Neal winced._

_"Excuse me but some people value chivalry and honour more than algebra."_

_"Honour? You, of all people Lady Alanna, wish to discuss honour?"_

_"Wyldon," hissed Viven as she glared daggers at her husband._

_Alanna looked as if she'd been slapped. "By the tongue of the Goddess Cavall, what was that supposed to mean?" _

_The room was silent. Alanna and Wyldon were staring each other down, neither giving an inch._

_"Language, my Lady," said Neal finally. "Not in front of the childr—"_

_The two knights broke eye contact and turned on Neal. "Queenscove," they began simoultaniously._

_"Stay out of this-"_

_"Or you will regret it-"_

_"For the rest of your life."_

_"And I promise, the rest of your life will last-"_

_"Oh, sixteen seconds." _

_"Seventeen if you're lucky." And then they turned back to each other._

3. Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed my last Owen fic, The Squire I. You're all wonderful :)

4. Thank you Leavers "When you quote me I sound stupider "Beavers for nagging and beta-ing ;)

Ciao!

Fen, er, Lyre. Don't know who I am. Pick one.


	2. Part II

An hour later, Lord Wyldon of Cavall strode purposefully into his mother's sitting rooms, an annoyed look on his face. His mother, wife and daughters were all present, sewing a dusty rose coloured quilt. Slightly beyond the circle was his squire, absorbed in a book.

No one seemed to notice his arrival let alone his purposeful stride. This irritated Wyldon; his purposeful stride had been used – successfully no less- many a time to catch the eye of an important person.

"Orianne," began Lady Viven, his wife. "Would you pass me the thread?"

"Yes Mama." The thread changed hands.

Wyldon coughed. Viven looked up, appropriately surprised. "Wyldon," she said. "I didn't see you there."

He seized his opportunity. "Oh, no? Well I haven't seen _any_ of you all day." Wyldon smiled wryly, his lips pressed into a thin line. "One would think you've all been _avoiding_ me."

They shifted uncomfortably and avoided his eyes. After an uncomfortable silence, although smug on Wyldon's part, his mother spoke up. "Wyldon, stop being such an insufferable prig." Old Lady Cavall (commonly known as Battle-Axe Cavall) never minced words. She continued, "just because _your wife _invited—that _woman _—to tea is no reason to skulk about." She glared significantly at her daughter-in-law.

"I'm _not_ skulking," protested Wyldon. "Furthermore, Mother, I never skulk." Wyldon's gaze fell on Owen. "Jesslaw," he barked.

"Yes my Lord?"

"Tell me, was supervising sewing circles amongst your duties with Sir Myles?"

Owen cringed. "No my Lord."

Lord Wyldon looked suitably satisfied. "Then what, Squire, gave you the idea that you could do such a thing here?"

Owen squirmed. "I'm not… Sir… supervising…"

Battle-Axe Cavall cackled with glee. "That's for sure. The boy couldn't sew to save his life. Be sure to check out his bedroll Wyldon, I've never seen worse sewing in all my long and miserable life."

Wyldon narrowed his eyes. "If I want your opinion on my squire, I'll be sure to ask. In the mean time, please refrain from meddling in what are my affairs, mother."

Battle-Axe let out a loud "harrumph". "Can't an old woman offer her opinion? When I was young, I held my tongue and _listened_ to my elders." Viven nodded sympathetically. The old woman rolled her eyes ("don't agree just to get on my good side dear") and Viven stiffened, offended. Briskly she turned back to her sewing.

Wyldon strode purposefully to the door.

"Wyldon," called his wife.

"Yes Viven?"

She eyed him, her head tilted to one side. "Are your pants too tight?"

"…"

"Excuse me?"

Isadel, the second youngest daughter, spoke up. "What she means, Father, is that you're strutting around in the manner of a rooster."

His wife and daughters tittered. If I'm a rooster, thought Wyldon bitterly, then they're all old biddy hens. And since when, his train of thought switched tracks, have my daughters joined in the female conspiracy against me? His gaze fell upon the other male in the room and coincidentally, the only person present over which he could exercise authority anymore. Apparently.

"Jesslaw," barked Lord Wyldon.

"Sir."

"Report to my office for lessons at once."

"Yes, my Lord." Jesslaw made his way to the door, getting amused looks from the five Cavall sisters.

Lord Wyldon stopped his squire at the door and whispered, "bring a needle and thread."

"Sir?"

"I'm _not_ having it said that my squire can not sew."

Owen stared, bewildered.

"Go on."

Owen hurried off. Wyldon made to follow and was stopped by his wife's voice.

"Remember dear," she said with her eyes still on her sewing. "Lady Alanna should be by this afternoon. Please try to be civil."

Wyldon crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. "I shall be civil if she is." Old Lady Cavall snorted, showing how likely she thought it was that a woman ill-bred enough to be a knight, should also be civil.

"Indeed mother," remarked Wyldon. "Indeed."

* * *

Several hundred crooked stitches later, ten razor-edged straight ones (all Lord Wyldon's of course) and four bells later, Owen looked up from his math books. His knight master was staring blankly into space.

"My Lord?"

Wyldon jumped slightly. "Yes, Jesslaw."

"It's two bells past lunch."

Wyldon raised an eyebrow, his composure regained. "Your point is?"

Owen smiled meaningfully. "Shouldn't you go meet Lady Alanna?"

"Is your math done, Squire?"

"No Sir."

"Then think more about what you should be doing, and less about what I should-"

There was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal one of the Cavall servants.

"My Lord, Lady Alanna is here. Your presence is requested in the sitting room."

Wyldon glared at his squire as if to say, "see what you've done? You jinxed it!"

Owen smiled nervously, "I'll just finish my math then."

"Oh no you don't."

"Sir?"

"You, Jesslaw, are coming with me."

"But Sir…"

"You are a Squire. My Squire. I wish you to attend. You will attend. Understood?"

"Perfectly, Sir."

"Good. Let's go."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Jesslaw?"

"You're still sitting at your desk."

"I am, aren't I?"

"Err…" Owen squirmed, uncomfortable under his knight master's gaze.

The servant reappeared. "Lord Wyldon, Lady Viven says that if you stall any further you'll be spending the next month in one of the guest rooms."

Wyldon's eyes widened ever so slightly. He stood up abruptly, and motioned for Owen to do the same. Knight-master and squire followed the servant to the wing reserved for entertaining guests. Having reached the door of the room, Wyldon stopped and put his hand on his squire's shoulder. Owen grinned up at him. Wyldon opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it and mentally shook his head at his own folly.

It was just Lady Alanna. How bad could it be?

* * *

Author's Note: 

Famous last words, indeed. Well, I'm actually done writing the rest (yes yes, I know, wonder of wonders, I finished a non one-shot fic) and there are two part parts. Alanna and Neal star in the next chapter (it's the longest)and then the fourth part is back to Owen and Teresa. My favourite part is still the beginning which is why I was considering not posting this chapter or the rest.

Anyways, I still don't own anything and am increasinglyin debt to my beta (pst Semolina, I LIKE being wordy. hmph. I cut it out anyways. -pouts- And hyphens are my friends. So there. If I'm hyphen friendly you have a shrine for commas.). So don't sue. You won't get anything.

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! And in answer to the questions-  
Teresa is 16, same age as Owen. If not a teeny bit older.  
What /was/ Lady Viven thinking? Whatever goes on in her head is a mystery to all... I mean she married into the Cavalls. We'll blame that on Lord Wyldon's stunning sex-appeal though...cough

ta!


	3. Part III

Wyldon walked bravely – and casually, making sure he did not strut in the least - forward into the sitting room.

Mithros help him. It wasn't _just_ Lady Alanna. Queenscove was there too, naturally. Why hadn't he considered that she'd bring that annoying, impertinent squire of hers? Damn them both to Carthak.

Worst of all, as his squire, Owen was supposed to stand by his knight master's side or at the very least have been creating some sort of diversion from the matter at hand. But no, not at all. Jesslaw was _hugging_ Nealan of Queenscove. Admittedly, Neal did look uncomfortable and slightly strangled. Good on Jesslaw.

Viven coughed, and Wyldon came to his senses.

"Lady Alanna, how pleasant to see you and your squire."

Alanna, after two weeks of traveling and a half hour of strained conversation (albeit to very nice scones and tea) with the women of Cavall, was in no mood to be falsely pleasant with her pig-headed chauvinist of a nemesis. "Hello Wyldon," she said cheerfully enough. "No need to pretend that you wouldn't rather see a cartload of Scanrans in your home than myself and Nealan."

Wyldon looked pointedly at his wife who returned the stare. She mouthed two words at him. "Guest room."

"So, Lady Alanna," began Wyldon hurriedly as he moved to take a seat. With a grimace, he noticed that Queenscove was sitting in _his_ chair, talking to _his _daughters. Owen wasn't stopping him either. Traitor. He chose instead an uncomfortable wooden chair, with one leg slightly shorter than the others. "What brings you –" (thunk went the chair as he leant backwards) –"to this corner of Tortall?"

"Actually—" Alanna was cut off by Wyldon's mother.

"Actually Wyldon, she just finished telling us. If you'd bothered to show up on time to meet your guest, you would have known."

"Really Mother!" (thunk).

Neal turned to the five daughters and wagged his index finger. "Now that was a mistake. One does not interrupt Lady Alanna's speech." The girls giggled. Owen pouted. The girls had clearly decided that unlike their father's squire, Nealan of Queenscove was worthy of their attentions. Worthy of being laughed _with_ instead of _at._ Just because he was older and more _Neal._

Sure enough, Alanna's eyes held a murderous glint. "Yes Wyldon, why weren't you here earlier? I managed to make it here on time even after I took care of a number of unexpected bandits on the way over."

Neal laughed in what he thought was a manly way as he spoke to the girls again. "'We' took care of a number of unexpected bandits," he corrected. The younger two girls sighed collectively while Coren, Lara and Orianne leant forward.

Owen rolled his eyes at his fellow squire but perked up nonetheless. "Bandits?" he asked Lady Alanna with a grin.

Alanna grinned back wolfishly.

"And here I was, stuck doing _math_. How boring." Owen sighed dejectedly and swatted at Neal who was showing the girls his bandaged arm, or as he put it, his battle wounds.

"Neal," hissed Owen. "You and Lady Alanna are both healers."

Neal grinned backed. "Shhh, they don't know that."

"Does it hurt?" asked Teresa.

"Horribly."

Owen rolled his eyes again. "Neal's a girl when it comes to pain."

Twelve eyes stared at him accusingly. "What's that supposed to mean, squire?" asked Coren, the eldest girl. "Bad move," whispered Neal to Owen as he indicated the room full of women.

"Err…"

Neal grinned and sipped his tea (held by his 'good' arm of course).

Meanwhile, Wyldon pounced on his cue. "Yes, math. I had to finish my squire's math lesson. And that is why I was late." Self-satisfied, he crossed his arms and leant back in his chair. Consequently, his statement was punctuated with a resounding _thunk._ "You know how important it is to teach a squire the fundamentals of math, Lioness, don't you?"

Alanna took this as a personal insult to her less than average skills in math. Neal winced.

"Excuse me but some people value chivalry and honour more than algebra."

"Honour? You, of all people Lady Alanna, wish to discuss honour?"

"Wyldon," hissed Viven as she glared daggers at her husband.

Alanna looked as if she'd been slapped. "By the tongue of the Goddess Cavall, what was that supposed to mean?"

The room was silent. Alanna and Wyldon stared each other down, neither giving an inch.

"Language, my Lady," said Neal finally. "Not in front of the childr—"

The two knights broke eye contact and turned on Neal. "Queenscove," they began simultaneously.

"Stay out of this-"

"Or you will regret it-"

"For the rest of your life."

"And I promise, the rest of your life will last-"

"Oh, sixteen seconds."

"Seventeen if you're lucky." And then they turned back to each other.

"I don't have any Honour Cavall? Because I'm not a rigid stump who can't bend without breaking?"

"She got him there," murmured Neal to Owen, not mollified in the least. The five daughters glared daggers at Neal. "That's our _father_, Squire Nealan," hissed Coren. Neal paled. "Oh, right. Heh heh."

"Rigid? Stump?" Shouted Wyldon. "I respect the traditions of our forefathers—"

"Exactly. Fore_fathers._ Because chauvinists like you are too damn stupid to listen to anything a woman has to say. Even if it screams truth. And if we do something unexpected, or have an opinion that differs from that of a wall hanging" she broke off here to breathe.

Battle-Axe Cavall broke into a grin. "Here here, my dear. Well said."

Alanna glanced over in surprise. "Thank you, my Lady Cavall"

The old woman shook her head, "oh no, my dear, call me Isavere."

Alanna smile tightly. "Yes Lady Isavere."

Owen stared. Lady Viven looked faint. Who knew the old bat actually had a first name? Even Lady Viven called her "Lady Cavall". Owen had assumed that she was so old that everyone, herself included, had forgotten if she had ever had a first name, and if so, what it had been.

"Isavere, dear. No Lady."

"Isavere."

Battle-Axe Cavall smiled, for the second time in the day. For all that Wyldon resented his mother's constant meddling in his life, he did want to see her happy. And it had been many a long year since she had smiled _twice_ in the same day, let alone conversation! Wyldon silently acknowledged the fact that if he weren't so mad and she weren't so _Lady Alanna_, he'd probably be worshiping the ground on which the Lioness walked.

"I do appreciate a woman who knows her mind," admitted the old woman. "One doesn't see that often enough around here," she added with a pointed look to her daughter-in-law.

Viven bristled. "I do have opinions, all the time."

"Of course, dear, of course," soothed the elder Lady of Cavall. "I remember just the other day, you were saying how we ought to paint the guest rooms green. We all have to start somewhere."

Viven rubbed her temples and Wyldon glowered at his mother. "Really mother, that's no way to speak to Viven."

His mother was every inch the picture of innocence. "Can't I give a compliment Wyldon?"

"You are well aware that was an insult."

Battle-Axe sniffed in a hurt manner.

Alanna sipped her tea, somewhat pacified and amused as she watched Isavere best her son. Besides, Alanna liked Lady Viven, really. And she liked the scones that Lady Viven served. It wasn't her fault the woman had horrible taste in husbands.

An uncomfortable silence ensued and naturally, Neal was the one to break it.

"Lady Cavall, have I mentioned how good this tea is?"

"Thank…" Lady Viven and Lady Isavere both began to answer and broke off to glare at each other.

Lara glared at Neal. "Good going, squire Nealan. Obviously intelligence nor tact is required to whack at things with a stick." Her sisters nodded agreeably as Owen and Neal looked suitably insulted.

"Honestly Viven, I think the boy was referring to me."

Viven raised an eyebrow at her mother in law, "Well, I would agree with the sole exception that the squire was referring to the tea. And everyone knows that you've lifted not a single finger to help with anything - let alone a pot of tea - in the past thirty years."

The old lady gasped, offended.

"And if that wasn't enough," snapped Lady Viven, all pretences of being the humouring hostess abandoned. "You sit there and _criticize_ everything I do. How I run my home…"

Wyldon, Alanna, Neal, Owen and the Cavall girls all attempted to shrink visibly, and pretend they weren't listening.

"My home too," sniffed Lady Isavere. "I'm not dead yet."

"… how I raise my children…"

"Well I did have eight of them."

"… how I'm not an appropriate wife…"

"I never said-"

"You hint," accused Lady Viven, darkly. "Although I don't see how _anyone_ could live up to your standards. Not even you."

"Are you calling me a hypocrite, girl?"

Viven nodded. "Maybe Lady Alanna would be more to your liking."

"Maybe she would."

The said Lady stared at Lord Wyldon, who's face showed every inch the horror that she felt.

"I _am_ married," ventured Alanna, who felt quite out of her depth. But added for good measure, "happily."

Wyldon nodded as his hand reached for Viven's. "She's married. Happily."

"Well," drawled Neal. "Send an envoy to check if Carthak's frozen over - the Lioness and the Stump just agreed."

"Nealan, show some respect; that's no way to address your training master." Alanna conveniently forgot that she had called Wyldon a "stump" minutes before.

Neal's eyebrows rose. "And now she's _defending_ him. When's the date my Lady? Don't forget your squire's invitation."

Teresa tapped Owen – who was staring at Neal with an open mouth - on the shoulder and spoke. "Is he -" she gestured at Neal "- actually this dense? I mean he's baiting the Lioness on_ purpose_."

Owen closed his mouth and swallowed before nodding.

"Ah," remarked Teresa and turned back to watch the spectacle with interest. "Then the fact that he's dashingly handsome is clearly compensation."

"For his lack of intelligence, or …" the question died on Owen's lips.

"Or what, squire?" asked Coren. Lara, Orianne and Isadel gave their eldest sister suitably shocked and appalled looks. Teresa, however, caught Owen's eye and grinned wickedly. "What do you _think_ I meant, Squire Owen?"

Owen gulped and turned his attention back to the adults (and Neal). Nothing good would come of that conversation, he was sure.

"The only invitation you'll be getting," Alanna was telling Neal, "is to your own funeral."

"Quite right," snapped Isavere. "There will be no wedding. She," the old lady pointed a gnarled old finger at the King's Champion, "is in no way going to marry my Wyldon. A _female_ knight. A disgrace, that's what. Who knows what went on in the squire's wing while _she_ was there? The girl probably seduced the prince, that's what."

Alanna picked up another scone and for once in her life let the insult slide. Normally quick to anger with insults about her integrity, the knight was just plain relieved that her name was no longer being connected with "Cavall" and "marriage". Besides, she thought with a smirk, it was hardly as if she had been the one to do the seducing.

"Viven here," the old lady waved a regal hand at her daughter-in-law, "is a much better choice. A fine up-standing woman."

Viven glanced wearily at Isavere and gave her a tight smile.

"No offense meant dear," added Isavere belatedly to Alanna.

Alanna was about to mention that none was taken when she saw her golden ticket (out of the mad-house these people called Cavall) sprout wings and begin to fly away. Mentally grabbing it out of the air she stood up and spoke in what she hoped was a suitably affronted tone of voice. "No offense was meant? My Lady, may I remind you that you finished calling me a _slut_?" She took a bite out of her scone for emphasis. "If that's the way that guests are treated in Cavall, it will be a cold day in Carthak -" Here she winced as she remembered Neal's words, but continued anyways. "- before I so much as set foot in this fief again. Squire?" She motioned for Neal to follow her.

"We'll show ourselves out," she added, ignoring the fact that no one had stood up to escort her out. Alanna sent an apologetic look to Viven (it was stupid at best to offend someone who was in possession of what could possibly be the best recipe for scones in all of Tortall) and stormed out. Neal followed, close behind.

* * *

Author's Note:

Heh. Right. Well, there it is. One more chapter left.

Now I'm hungry for Aunt Elly's tea biscuits. Look what you've done, Sally. And yes, I left Alanna's speech patterns suffering. And yes, I still took the cheap way out. So sue me. All you'll get is my shrine to Indy. ha.

It sucks posting this after Bookends, it feels like I'm going downhill. Eugh.

Muchos gracias to all who reviewed! I love you all! The next – and last – scene features Owen and Teresa again. Aw.

ta. from the cluttered desk of Fen.


	4. Part IV

Owen winced in pain. He was brushing down his mare, Happy, after an especially nasty tilting session with Lord Wyldon and to Owen, itwas quite plain what - and who - had put his knight master in such a foul mood.He was mentally cursing Nealan (no point cursing a knight who had the great Mother Goddess on her side and was the King's Champion to boot) when Lady Teresa appeared in the stables.

"Would you like some help?" she asked.

Owen shook his head, etiquette ever-present, even as he felt ready to crawl into his grave. "No thank you, Lady Teresa."

Teresa ignored Owen's answer and picked up a brush.

"Your dress," stated Owen, by way of protest. In contrast to his dirt stained riding clothes, Wyldon's daughter was wearing the same gown she'd worn to tea earlier in the day. Impeccable, as always.

Teresa gave the squire a look and started brushing Happy's other side. Owen 'hmph'-ed but was too tired to protest and besides, his mare was enjoying the much deserved attention. Owen and Teresa fell into an amicable silence as they worked.

"Sorry," offered Teresa once Happy had been returned to her stall, fully pampered.

"For what?" asked Owen, sincerely confused. Not only was it the first time he'd heard the girl apologize for anything, he had no idea for what she was asking forgiveness.

"Father pounding you ten feet into the ground."

Owen winced, so she'd seen that? He'd never hear the end of it now. "It's hardly your fault, my Lady."

She wrinkled her nose. "All the same."

Owen shrugged, his shoulders screaming in protest as he did so. "It was almost worth it; did you see the look on My Lord's face when they suggested he marry Lady Alanna?"

Teresa giggled. "That _was_ entirely amusing."

"Can you imagine-"

"No."

Owen smiled and eyed a haystack. It looked entirely too inviting- his body was aching to lie down. So he did.

Teresa stared.

"What?" he asked. "It's comfortable, my Lady."

"And extremely un-hygienic."

Owen rolled his eyes. "Is Lady Teresa afraid of the little spiders?"

"Of course not," and she moved to sit in the hay, settling herself daintily.

Owen grinned at her. "How do you do that?"

"How do I do what, Squire?"

"Make everything- even sitting in a stack of hay- look so dignified."

Teresa sniffed haughtily. "It's an art."

"Oh."

"Evidently one that you lack."

Owen pouted. "So what _did_ you mean?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Squire."

The said squire gestured vaguely, "You know, when you were talking about Neal."

Teresa coloured, and raised her chin. "I was, well, good looks are fine and well, but it helps if the person in question has an ounce of intelligence."

"Neal has intelligence," protested Owen loyally.

"And I'm the Queen of Maren."

"Are you really?"

"You're incorrigible."

"In-corri-a-whatsis?"

"Hopeless, definitely."

"Thank you."

"Good day, Squire Owen."

* * *

A/N: Aaaand it's done. (I finished a multi-chaptered fic! Will wonders never cease?) Anyways,I shall see you all at some point in the future with more Owen. It's an addiction. Really.

Fenella


End file.
